


Fatherly love?

by Guinevere81



Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: Abuse, Angst, Dementia, Hurt/Comfort, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-10
Updated: 2017-12-02
Packaged: 2018-08-14 05:19:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 9,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8000050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Guinevere81/pseuds/Guinevere81
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Once Robbie and Laura leave for New Zealand the fragile relationships James has started to build with his family begin to crumble. How long will it take before Robbie realises and what will he do about it?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. They're gone but we're still here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Alinea for helping me get over the hurdle of deciding to actually post this despite time restraint.

It had started as soon as Phillip started to get more mobile again after his stroke. At first it was little things. Grabbing James’ wrist a little too harshly, a slight kick to the shins when James tried to help him get his cardigan on. It was so familiar that James didn’t even question it.  
  
There were no arguments this time, no fights about money or being appreciative of what they had and there was certainly no pungent smell of beer or on payday maybe whiskey. Instead there was confusion and grumbled curses and, by the time Phillip managed to punch him in the face and cause a nosebleed in the middle of the garden room, an apologetic explanation from one of the nurses that dementia could cause violent outbursts.  
  
James already knew about the side effects dementia could have on mood and aggression. He also knew what an absolute neglectful bastard his father could be. That wasn’t what hurt, it wasn’t even really his swollen nose that really hurt, it was the fact that for a few months he had thought that things were changing. Yes Phillip had grown feebler and more confused but with a gargantuan effort on James’ part and with Robbie’s gentle coaching things had seemed to improve.  
  
For a maddening couple of months it had seemed like he was slowly re-connecting with his father, or maybe connecting for the first time. Perhaps if he was being really honest about it things weren’t even that simple. There was something about having an odd surrogate family in his colleagues and finding that his dad had paid an interest, even if he had never actually said as much that made James feel simultaneously warm and confused. Admittedly there was part of that something that held a profound sense of guilt, but he had always been prone to bouts of guilt, and this time it was tempered by a new feeling of belonging.  
  
It had seemed a bit too good to be true and of course that meant it had been too good to last. Robbie and Laura had left and as his father’s physical condition had improved and he became more mobile, his mental condition had deteriorated. He didn’t remember who James was but he certainly seemed to remember that he didn’t like him.  
  
The slurred insults had started just weeks after Robbie had left and it had made answering questions about how his father was doing more awkward. He came up with a few platitudes and tried to make sure that he still visited frequently so that he didn’t have to lie about his own presence in the room.  
  
The bruises started about a month later. A slap here, an elbow there and James simply accepted that for what time was remaining he would have an unpleasant return to being his father’s vent for inexplicable anger.  
  
The excuses about dementia causing aggression are awkward because most of the anger seems to be directed toward James. Of course two of the female orderlies have also gotten punched on numerous occasions but that is fairly easily managed as it is a large home and usually enough staff on rota that they don’t have to deal with any patients that have bad reactions to individual orderlies or nurses.  
  
After months of insults and bruises, a black eye and a bruised nose James is starting to crack at the edges. He’s lonely, missing his friends and finding work a terrible challenge. Moody is constantly hanging over his back and Maddox is frustrated with the skype calls with her husband becoming more scarce. James knows he’s retreating into himself, that he’s drinking far too much and that his diet has turned more pathetic than Robbie’s had been when they first met. Half the time he just doesn’t bother to eat at all.


	2. A sad, lonely policeman with an elbow ache

Things come to something of a head when James goes to spend the evening with his father. He’s trying to keep up the reading which had seemed to help him connect with his father earlier. He’s reading a passage from Tennyson and trying to ignore his father’s repeated mumblings of ‘stupid’, and ‘silly’. At some point his father has marked this passage in pencil and written ‘Lovely’ next to it, James can recognize the handwriting. When he takes a deep breath, ready to start on the next paragraph Philip throws him an annoyed glance and hisses ‘No more books, pointless. Go away, you’re as useless as my son’, and something in James snaps.

Standing up and flinging the book onto the floor he leans both hands onto the bed where his father is sitting and with a voice that is steadier than his racing heart and the lump in his throat would suggest he shouts at his father. ‘Shut up. You’re an evil spiteful man and I don’t see why I bother with you.’

He’s half straightened up when Philip grabs the light from the bedside and swipes at James with all his might. It catches James across the elbow and sends him stumbling to the ground grabbing his arm as the light crashes to the ground in a rain of shards of porcelain. 

Phillip is yelling incoherently as James struggles to his feet. He’s hesitating between going to his father and trying to calm him, yelling back for all the times his father has insulted him for doing nothing wrong, or running away and curling up into a small ball like he would have done when he was ten. 

Two orderlies come running. They throw suspicious glances at the broken light on the floor and go to try to calm Philip down. One of them gives James a stern look and tell him to go wait outside. James shakes his head, ‘I’ve got somewhere I’ve got to go. I’ll call.’ He promises and escapes, almost at a run.

He reaches the car before the panic really takes over. He sits there, trembling, cradling his injured elbow for an indeterminate amount of time. He’s on the verge of sobbing but no tears are willing to flow. He can’t tell which hurts more, the terrible ache in his elbow or the empty hole in his chest where his heart should be. He feels empty, hollowed out, like someone has reached into his chest and ripped out all that fond satisfaction he  used to have in his music and his books, his work and the friends that used to come with it. He’s becoming the Tin Woodman and he’s pretty  sure there is no Wizard out there to give him a heart.

Finally he pulls himself together enough to get the car started and head home. It’s slow and painful and he has to stop twice before he makes it home. It’s a horrible night. He can’t say if it is the anxiety about the argument or the pain in his elbow that is keeping him awake but he doesn’t sleep a wink. 

By the time he makes it to the office the next morning he knows he’s as grumpy as a bear with a toothache, or in this case a sad, lonely policeman with an elbow ache.

He is well aware that he looks a right mess. His elbow is bruised and swollen and he can’t straighten it properly which is proving an impediment. Showering and getting ready was a hopeless mission. His hair's a mess, his tie is on crooked and it took him ten minutes to get his shoelaces tied, ten minutes so painful that it brought tears to his eyes. He feels dizzy and sick but it is probably more because of lack of sleep and nutrition than anything else. By the time he’s leaving he knows he can’t take the car, he’ll end up causing an accident. He takes the bus in and then walks to the station and ends up late. 

It takes Maddox all of three minutes to figure out that something is not right. As soon as he tries to take his coat off and she sees how awkward and hesitant he is she’s across the room and guiding him to sit. 

He should have given it up even before leaving his flat. He makes up a stupid excuse of falling and hitting his elbow and Maddox seems to buy it. She does however insist on taking him to A&E when he admits he hasn’t been. 

The wait in A&E is long and tedious but that isn’t the worst part of it, the worst bit is that he’s tired and unfocused and he allows the doctor to remove his shirt in front of Maddox. He feels lightheaded and he’s focused on the doctor’s examination of his elbow and it takes him a second too long to realise that his Sergeant is no longer looking at his elbow. 

The yellow circle around his neck where Philip had wrapped his fingers around him nearly a week ago is almost faded. That would be the most damning, but there’s also several smaller bruises, on his forearm and the side of his chest and James has no illusion that either a policeman or a doctor won’t be able to make a decent guess.

The only blessing is that the doctor sends Maddox out so they can speak privately. The doctor asks him a million questions about his ‘fall’ and by the way he says it he makes it clear that he doesn’t believe it is an actual fall at all. James makes up a load of bollox about work and a difficult case causing the various bruises and causing him insomnia which had him toppling over at home from exhaustion. It probably wouldn’t have worked except as he’s waiting for the results from his x-rays he gets up to go the toilet, too quickly based on no sleep and no food and he promptly passes out in the hospital corridor. That earns him an overnight stay with a drip bag set above his head which the hairline fracture in his elbow would not have needed but which his body certainly needed. He also gets a rather stern talking to by a nutritionist the next day where body mass index and eating disorders are prominent words. He assures her that he is not trying to lose weight, that he’s always been skinny and that he’ll do his best to put on a few more pounds. She eyes him warily but lets him go in the end much to his relief. 


	3. Keeping up appearances

The night in the hospital and the, all but, force feeding of the nurses has done him a world of good. When he returns home the next day he feels lighter, less sluggish and determined to deal with his father in a mature way. He even stops by Tesco to pick up fresh vegetables, bread and milk. In the end he adds a box of eggs, he enjoyed the eggs they had given him at the hospital.  
  
It is a little awkward coming back to work after two unintentional days off. He’s tempted to leave the sling the doctor has given him at home in an effort to pretend he’s been off on some business or other. Yet when he doesn’t wear it his fingers go numb and tingly and the ‘should’ in the doctor’s cheerful assurance that ‘there should be no permanent damage, and as long as he doesn’t overexert himself he will be back to playing his guitar in no time’, rings ominous in his ears. Therefore he tucks it in under his suit jacket and merely tries to pretend it isn’t there.  
  
Moody is concerned. It seems that somehow it has got back to him that being overworked might have been a contributing factor in James’ accident. For a second he blames Maddox for this development before he realises that she was only trying to help. Then he blames himself for being stupid enough to make up an excuse for the bruises that involved work, the only refuge he has. He can’t let Moody think he needs time off. Time off is the worst thing he can think of right now.  
  
Some of the lads take the piss out of him for falling and hurting himself but it’s a small price to pay considering he has a fair idea what they would say if they knew he had been hit by his elderly father. Maddox seems to be hovering more than usual and Robbie’s e-mails have turned to enquiring about his health which has him slightly wary. It would seem the office gossip travels all the way around the globe.  
  
To try to compensate for any gossip Robbie and Laura are hearing he spends his lunch breaks writing snide comments about various tourist attractions in New-Zealand that he has no idea if they intend to visit or not, or running commentary on whatever is on his reading list… anything to deflect from the fact that Robbie would have a meltdown if he knew what was going on between the male members of the Hathaway family. James just isn’t entirely sure who he would be angry with. Robbie has always defended Jame when anyone has tried to hurt him, then again, he had been adamant that James should try to get on with his dad. In fact so had Nell and she was most definitely blaming him for what had happened with the lamp.  
  
He honestly means to take better care of himself only it’s so hard when his mind is constantly preoccupied with how to ward off conflict to right and left. After news of his argument with his father got round to Nell it has now turned Into an argument with her as well as an issue at work. She accuses him of intentionally provoking their dad and in all honesty James can’t blame her. He’s never had the knack for dealing gently with their father. He was always too honest, too blunt, prone to say exactly what he thought.  
  
Nell was always so good at doing just what was expected of her, of blending into the background and never causing a stir. James envies her that, at the same time, part of him, one he is bitterly ashamed of, despises her for it. Cowardly, he thinks, weak…. She had dreams and passions once and what has she done with them, absolutely nothing. He wants to dislike her, wants to think her weak for taking a job as a receptionist in a company she’s ashamed of instead of applying for university. Now she’s a sales rep in the same company and unlike James who has had numerous anxiety filled moments of questioning his career choices, she seems quietly content. He thinks maybe he does dislike her for this, but knows somewhere deep down that it isn’t true. She’s not the one he dislikes… it’s not even his father he is upset with. It is his own stupid inability to just be happy, to compromise, to fit in, to be a good boy, not just because he got the grades, but because people liked him.


	4. Friends who care

It is Lizzie who first alerts Robbie to the fact that something is not right with James. It starts four weeks after they left for New Zealand and it is in the little things that she does not quite say in her e-mails. Then a few weeks later there’s a thrown in comment about whether he’s heard from Hathaway. Followed by a brief mention of how James seems to have grown rather accident prone followed after another few weeks by an actual admission that she is worried about him.  
  
Asking James about how he is doing brings nothing but platitudes. He admits to being frustrated with Nell and working a bit too hard but mostly he talks about the office or books he has read and asks a lot of questions about their trip. He’s also taken to turning into a guidebook. Every e-mail seems to include some form of advice on what to see and not see when they’re away. He tries to convince Robbie that Maori cooking is preferable to the excellent burgers that Robbie has been extolling the virtues of. In an unexpected fit of romanticism he tells Robbie that he absolutely must take Laura on a drive up the east coast on the north island because that is the first place the sun rises every day and Laura will love the romantic symbolism. What he doesn’t talk about is himself, especially not himself in regards to his family. Then again Robbie had never expected him to. If it hadn’t been for Lizzie’s concern and the slightly alarming comments dropping into his mailbox whenever he hears from anyone else in the office he had thought that James’ e-mails were perfectly normal. They are perfectly normal, that is the crux of the thing,  
  
Robbie finds therefore that the only way to get any real information is to ask Lizzie and ask her frankly. When he questions her on what is going on with James, begging her for details he is secretly keeping his fingers crossed that what he’ll get is an explanation that she’s been exaggerating and James is fine. Instead what he receives is a photograph, clearly taken without James’ knowledge. James is outside the police station smoking but this isn’t the James that Robbie had left behind. The fact that he has his arm in a sling when he hasn’t bothered to tell Robbie about it should be what is most noticeable but it isn’t. James has always been thin but in the last couple of months he’s gone from lanky to emaciated.  
  
There are dark circles under his eyes and his hair looks like it hasn’t been cut since Robbie left. He looks ill and Robbie can’t help but panic. They’re not set to fly back for another two and a half months but there is no way Robbie can stay on holiday when his best mate is in that kind of a state.  
  
He expects Laura to kick up a fuss, or at least to be disappointed, and at first she does. Phrases like ‘he’s a grown man’ and ‘he can take care of himself’ turn to ‘you never wanted to come in the first place’ and ‘any excuse to get back to work’ and he can see the hurt in her eyes. Then he shows her the picture he’s received from Lizzie and she curses quietly and sits down.  
  
‘Christ Robbie, what’s happened, what did he do to his arm for a start. He never mentioned...’ she trails off. ‘He wouldn’t, would he.  
  
Robbie shakes his head. ‘No he wouldn’t.’ he confirms. ‘Apparently he claims he fell trying to get something off a shelf. but Lizzie thinks he may have passed out rather than tripped. She went with him to A&E and apparently he passed out again while they were there, they kept him in overnight.’  
  
Laura can hear the almost panic in Robbie’s voice as he recounts Lizzie’s description and she pats his hand gently. ‘I know you’re imagining all sorts of horrible scenarios right now but flying half way around the world isn’t going to give you any answers. Let me ask him, as a medical professional, tell him that we’re worried about him.’ Laura suggests and Robbie agrees.  
  
There is a swift e-mail exchange between Laura and James which results in the arrival of a scanned copy of James’ discharge documents from the hospital including an x-ray of his elbow, the analysis of his CT scan, his blood work, the evaluation by the counselor and nutritionist and a verdict that James is not ill, he simply needs to eat more, sleep more and generally take better care of himself. Attached is also a picture of James with a convenient time stamp bearing yesterday’s date. ‘See I’m taking the doctor’s advice.’ James has written as a comment. It show’s James, sat on a high chair with a pint and a sandwich on a plate in front of him talking to two other young men, possibly his bandmates. He’s in civilian clothes sat at the bar of the White Horse . It’s been only a couple of weeks since Lizzie claimed the first photo had been taken and the transformation is impressive. James has had his hair cut and though he still looks very thin his face is less gaunt and there are no bags under his eyes. He’s not smiling per se but he doesn’t look miserable more concentrated on the conversation.  
  
‘See, he’s doing fine. Probably just struggling a bit with things with his dad and Lizzie worries for three now that we’re away. He looks absolutely fine in this picture.’ Laura points out. Robbie comes over to see and at first a smile spreads across his face and then he curses ‘Fuck, I’ve got to go Laura.’ and his look turns frantic.  
  
‘What’s wrong love?’ Laura asks.  
  
‘Those are the guest drafts from last spring,’ Robbie pokes at the screen where the taps are clearly visible behind James. ‘He’s changed the picture. He’s lying through his teeth and that means something is definitely wrong. What’s worse he hasn’t even realised that this would give him away.’ Robbie explains, ever the detective.  
  
‘Ah!’ is all Laura manages at first. Then she turns to Robbie ‘I can’t go, not now, not with the baby, but we’ll get you a ticket, as soon as we can.’ She turns back to the screen and opens a new browser window and typing in ‘last minute flights’.  
  
Robbie lets out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding and bends to kiss her on the forehead. ‘Thank you.’ is all he says before going to see about packing the most important of his belongings. Laura can send the rest on later.


	5. Returning Home

When Robbie finally steps out of the cab in his own road the last thing he expects is to find a pile of detective inspector curled up on his doorstep.  
  
He’s seen the black Jag parked up the road and thought, without noting the licence plate that it was ironic how he was being haunted by Jaguars, first James went and got himself one and now his neighbour. Of course it isn’t his neighbour’s car because curled up on his doorstep is a very James Hathaway shaped pile of fabric, misery and alcoholic vapours. The lad is imitating a shrimp in the alcove left between the door and the front steps where he is almost, but not quite, escaping the rain. Escaping the rain seems like a pointless mission when he’s clearly drenched through already.  
  
Robbie crouches down in front of James and then recoils involuntarily, the man smells like a sewer. There is an overpowering stench of urine and feces, with an added hint of whiskey, almost certainly caused by the nearly empty bottle lying abandoned on Robbie and Laura’s front steps. He would have happily stepped back to get away from the stink but there are bigger concerns. James looks a right state. He is still in his fancy three piece suit but somewhere along the way he’s lost his tie and his shirt is unbuttoned at the neck. It is also stained pink, almost certainly from the cut across his right temple which has stopped bleeding but is standing out in painful relief against James’ pale face.  
  
He hasn’t reacted at all as Robbie pulls his suitcase up and crouches down in front of him. He just stays there hugging his knees and chewing on his thumb in that way that he always does when he is really stressed or worried. He looks like a frightened child, hiding from the adults he expects punishment from.  
  
‘What’s happened Jim.’ Robbie coaxes gently as he reaches out and places a tentative hand on James trembling one.  
  
James flinches and pulls away before looking up and meeting Robbie’s gaze full on.  
  
‘You’re back.’ He states incredulously. ‘I’m sorry, I tried, I know you wanted me to but he doesn’t want me to hold his hand, he hates me... Don’t hate me.’ James rambles and it is the disjointed speech of the seriously inebriated but it makes enough sense for Robbie to figure out that whatever is going on it has something to do with James’ father.  
  
It also alerts him to the fact that James is almost certainly several sheets to the wind and getting a sensible explanation out of him tonight might not be a very realistic mission.  
  
‘I could never hate you Jim. Only right now you smell worse than a public toilet and I really need to get inside because it’s freezing out here so what do you say we get you up and into the house.’ They’d left a key with James so it seemed odd that he was sitting on the front steps in the wet December weather.  
  
‘I can’t, I’m disgusting… I’ll ruin the carpet… or the sofa… or… I shouldn’t have come here…’ There is a long silence as Robbie contemplates what approach to take. ‘You’re back…’ James repeats, reaching out to touch Robbie as though he is unsure if the man before him is real or just a mirage.  
  
‘Come on, let’s get inside, we’ll get you cleaned up, then you don’t have to worry about the carpet’. Robbie unlocks the door and holds out a hand to help James up. He stands on wobbly legs for a second or two before his knees buckle and he goes down like a badly erected tower of tins making Robbie release his suitcase and pitch forward to catch his friend before he hits the ground. It is more of a jumbled tumble of limbs than a graceful rescue as they both thump down onto the steps but at least it halts James’ descent without him cracking his head open on the concrete.  
  
‘Christ James, are you alright?’ Robbie gasps as he cradles him against his chest feeling more than a little awkward.  
  
‘I’m fine, just a bit light headed.’ James mumbles, struggling to get back up, a lot more slowly this time. He stands swaying, looking none too stable and Robbie hurries to unlock the door and get them both inside.  
  
They both hesitate in the entranceway, Robbie’s jetlagged mind wondering what might be the best course of action and James mainly occupied with propping himself up against a wall. They stay there for what feels like eternity but can’t have been more than a minute or two. Then Robbie reached out a hand to guide James up the stairs and into the bathroom. The lad is trembling and he smells like the bottom of a sewer so a bath seems like the only sensible option.  
  
They are halfway up the stairs when James suddenly shudders violently and doubles over. He’s been shivering hard ever since Robbie turned up but this is different and combined with suddenly dropping the whiskey bottle he has been clutching like a lifeline and his face going more green than white Robbie has a good idea about what is coming. James takes three swift steps up the stairs and throws himself into the bathroom with surprising agility seeing as a few seconds ago he was struggling to keep upright. The desperate retching would be amusing if Robbie wasn’t worried that it might be caused by more than just an excess of grain.  
  
Robbie proceeds up the stairs more slowly and hesitantly peeks into the bathroom. James is on the floor, all but hugging the toilet bowl. Knees protesting Robbie crouches down on the floor next to him.  
  
‘James, can you tell me if you’re pissed or concussed?’ Robbie asks, gently brushing his fingers across the cut on James’ temple, making him flinch again.  
  
‘Maybe a bit of both…’ James whispers, closing his eyes. ‘Definitely pissed though…’ he adds with a groan  
  
‘Ok we need to clean you up… do you want to tell me how you ended up bleeding and smelling like the bottom of a sewer’ Robbie asks as he reaches across and sets the water running in the bath.  
  
‘Dad stole a chamberpot. He hit me. Don’t tell anyone.’  
‘It’s a secret is it…’ Robbie asks because really what do you respond to that, a stolen chamberpot, who even uses chamberpots any more. .  
  
‘I don’t want you to laugh at me. Everyone laughs at me and I don’t like it.’ James confesses and something raw flashes in Robbie’s heart. How can someone so clever be so incredibly insecure? It baffles Robbie who has always been pretty comfortable in his own skin, even when Morse would rip every opinion he had to pieces.  
  
‘I won’t laugh at you lad. If you just sit down we’ll get you cleaned up.’ Robbie sighs ignoring James’ half hearted attempt at explanation in favour of a more hands on approach.


	6. Cleaning out an old wound

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This definitely isn't slash, but I do admit I was playing around a bit with the genre.

‘Will you take your clothes off while I run you a bath James?’ Robbie asks making James frown for a second before he starts fumbling with the buttons on his shirt.  
  
‘You telling me to take my clothes off is funny, people think you do. Moody wouldn’t approve.’ James mumbles incoherently whilst simultaneously failing to remove his shirt.  
  
‘In this instance I think Moody would approve actually, so long as I got you cleaned up.  
  
He leans down unbuttoning James’ shirt sliding it carefully off his shoulders. James skin is alabaster smooth but the outside of his arms looks like someone has grabbed him hard and shook him, more than once. There’s a large purple bruise on the back of the left shoulder and fingershaped older bruises snaking around both upper arms and his left wrist. Smaller indistinct marks pepper his forearms. Defensive bruises, Robbie identifies easily, the kind you get from fielding off blows you know are coming. It is a strange contradiction, the smooth perfection of James’ skin, taut where it stretches over the toned arms of a fit yet no longer perfectly in practice athlete, yet simultaneously stretching too tight over sharp collarbones and uncomfortably protruding ribs. The pallor gives him an almost alabaster sheen until the marble beauty is interrupted by the blue, purple, yellow and black graffiti of a harshly wielded hand.  
  
It’s an emotional sight, beautiful, yet horrifying, and very, very personal. Robbie needs a distraction and he leans forward and checks the temperature in the bathtub. He hesitates for a second before dropping one of Laura’s bath bombs into the water, feeling that it might be a bit too intimate but knowing that it will cloud the water and make the experience both smell more pleasant and more private for James who looks absolutely terrified.  
  
‘Ok, James you can do this yourself or I will help you but you need to have a wash and the only way to do that is getting your clothes off.’ Robbie explains awkwardly but when he gets no reaction he crouches down and undoes James’ trousers. When he slides them off James half stands to let him ease them off his hips and Robbie’s more than a little surprised when a couple of minutes later James is sat on the edge of the bath naked as the day he was born  
  
‘Come on, in you get.’ He urges and without much complaint beyond a half swallowed whimper James slips into the water, gangly limbs disappearing under the surface.  
  
He runs the showerhead over James upper body, watching as James flinches for a second before settling into the experience and luxuriating in the feeling of the warm water rinsing away the day’s awkwardness.  
  
‘Are you alright, does this hurt?’ Robbie asks, a gentle hand brushing across the tender looking bruise on James’ shoulder.  
  
‘Yes… not your fault.’ James whispers hesitantly. Robbie can’t help but wonder if the ‘Yes’ was meant as an admission of pain or an expression of being alright but he doesn’t ask for clarification, somehow he doesn’t feel it is suitable right now. Instead he runs his hand over James hair, angling his head back so he can wash the golden strands, and it seems the gentle movement is what is needed and a strange calm settles over the room. Robbie washes the muck out of James’ hair until the water runs clear and the shampoo comes out only mildly pink and smelling of something sea and mint related.  
  
It’s odd to be washing someone other than himself again. It used to be routine, giving the children a bath of an evening, sharing one with Val. She used to love it when he washed her hair. James’ hair is shorter than hers ever was but just as soft  
  
‘Tell me what happened.’ Robbie suggests as he slowly washes the horrible smell away, running a washcloth as carefully as he can over James back and arms, filling the bathroom with the scent of vanilla to mix with the sea and mint scents of the shampoo.  
  
The bathtub is almost full, of possibly too strongly scented water. There is lavender from the bath bomb, vanilla from the shower gell and the minty scent of the anti dandruff shampoo that Robbie favours, and yet this complete mess of scents seems immensely preferable to what it is removing.  
  
James curls up in the bath staring into the distance even as he minutely rests against Robbie’s hand where it is brushing carefully up and down his back.  
  
‘Dad’s getting worse…’ he explains ‘ He’s physically fitter but they say his mind is deteriorating. Apparently that’s why he’s violent.’ James explains even though he doesn’t explain, not really. The sheer number of things he’s assuming that Robbie understands about him is a testament to their close friendship. ‘They don’t know him though.’ He whispers, his voice at half its natural volume. ‘I’m glad you’re back.’ he whispers with eyes closed. ‘Dad’s nicer when you’re around, everything is nicer when you’re around.’  
  
Robbie’s heart seems to swell and ache at the same time. He knows James wouldn’t be saying any of these things if he wasn’t drunk as a skunk but he suspect he still means them. He can’t help but wonder if James will remember any of this come morning. He’ll certainly never forget having a naked, maudlin James curled up in his bathtub, all six foot something of him. It awakes a sea of emotions in him that he isn’t quite ready to deal with. Part of him feels paternal but surely that is the association to washing his kids, to trying to sooth their hurts when someone had been mean to them at school. Another more disturbing part is strangely turned on by the feeling of James’ smooth skin and soft hair under his hand but he very swiftly tucks that part away as another residue from doing this to Val and once to Laura. It’s just a question of association he tells himself.  
  
Mostly though he feels fiercely protective and not a little guilty. He had been pushing James to spend more time with his father. Telling him for all intents and purposes to make more of an effort. He’d meant well but right now he rather feels like it has all backfired.  
  
‘Are all of these bruises your dad’s doing?’ Robbie asks in a carefully neutral tone.  
  
‘Tried to help find the things... been hoarding other residents’ belongings. one was a chamberpot, one of those metal things…’ James keeps staring straight ahead, voice slightly slurred.  
‘A bedpan?’ Robbie suggests and James gives the faintest of nodds.  
  
‘I was tired and careless... refused to give it to me… I insisted, and…it wasn't empty...’ James reached up to touch the cut on his temple. The warm water has made it bleed again and his fingers come away smeared with blood.  
  
‘Told him Nell wasn’t coming n he had to make do with me.’ he smears a thin red line across his other arm covering one of the less dramatic bruises.  
  
‘My fault… I think… ‘ James mumbles, placing his hand over the nasty bruise on his shoulder he’d made a mess, needed a shower n change. I tried to help, shouldn’t have, doesn’t like me touching, never has.’ James has long since abandoned full sentences as well as most of his personal pronouns and it is sort of endearing despite the unpleasant topic of conversation.  
  
‘He hit you then as well!?’ It’s more a statement than a question, Robbie has no doubt it will have taken more than one or two angry outbursts to get James into this kind of a state.  
  
‘Pushed. I fell…. Said mum wasn’t coming back, that was bad…’ James goes on brushing fingers against the side of his neck ‘... got angry…’ he touches his elbow and of course Robbie had seen the evidence of that one. His elbow looks fine now compared to the rest of him but Robbie has a feeling that this is turning into a list of all the things that he has missed over the past months, all the things he should have read between the lines of James’ evasive e-mails.  
  
Most of the reasons James gives for visible bruises or unseen pains as he points at himself only half make sense to Robbie and eventually they seem to digress into memories of his father from much longer ago.. ‘Got the wrong cigarettes… didn’t win the race… forgot to feed the horses…’ Robbie swallows hard as he takes in the implication of James recalling past ‘failings’ while still pointing at random parts of his body as his speech is turning slightly manic and his breathing has turned more ragged.  
‘Failed the latin homework… ‘ James almost sobs and grabs his chin as though it hurts, and with eyes squeezed shut he starts to rock slightly.  
  
‘James, it’s alright, just breathe.’ Robbie soothes and for the first time since he arrived at the house James turns and looks up at him properly.  
  
‘He broke my jaw.’ James confesses and for a second there is complete silence between them. Then in the scope of seconds it isn’t vulnerable, drunken James in the tub any more. The mask is on and the briefest flash of Inspector Hathaway starts to erect a wall between them. It doesn’t really last however, it can’t because James is self consciously rubbing the scar on his chin and much as he is fighting it his hands are shaking and there is something thick in his voice as he glares at Robbie. ‘I’ve never told anyone that. No one would believe you. I was kicked by a horse.’  
  
Robbie heaves a sigh, ‘James it’s alright.’ Robbie kneels painfully next to the tub pulling James’ hand away from his face.  
  
‘I won’t hurt you and I won’t tell anyone unless you want me to.’ He promises and those are the magic world. The half erected facade crumbles. James gasps twice and then he turns as far away as possible as his shoulders start to shake.  
‘James look at me.’ Robbie dictates but James shakes his head and then tips forward, resting his forehead on his knees.  
  
‘I don’t feel well’ James whispers and for a moment Robbie thinks that maybe he is in over his head, perhaps he should just call for an ambulance, get James to hospital where he will likely have his stomach pumped and his cut stitched properly and have a line of psychologists ready to help him deal with past and present abuse. After all… Robbie is no councellor, he’s completely out of his depth here.  
  
‘Robbie…’ it’s the merest of whispers but it is enough. it reminds him that James is here for a reason. His ever rational sergeant, no, not sergeant any longer… his friend… chose to use his and Laura’s front door as a refuge when in need. He can’t turn him out and leave his care to strangers.  
  
‘I know James, I’m here. Let’s get you to bed.’ Robbie tugs gently to get the younger man out of the bath. He steadies him as he steps out and sits down on the toilet where Robbie hands him a towel.


	7. Chapter 7

Drunk, depressed and amusingly clumsy he may be but James is quite capable of drying himself as he proves while Robbie goes off to get him some clothes. It’s easier said than done. Nothing in Robbie’s wardrobe is James’ size and he can’t exactly put on his own suit which still smells vile after the bedpan encounter. Robbie settles for a t-shirt and a pair of drawstring trousers that he hasn’t worn in years and isn’t sure why he kept when he moved in with Laura, except now they are rather useful. The trousers are far too short for James but at least they’ll stay up.  
  
Robbie pulls the cut on James’ forehead together with steristrips and tapes a square of gauze over it. Sometimes it is useful having a partner that is a medical professional. Even though Laura works with dead people she keeps a very well stocked first aid kit. Although maybe that has more to do with her faith in Robbie’s abilities as a handyman, he had needed a lot of plasters during the canoe phase.  
  
James is disturbingly quiet and compliant as Robbie dresses him and leads him into the bedroom. It’s only once he’s been guided down onto the bed and is lying down being tucked in that he speaks again.  
  
‘Your bed… Moody wouldn’t approve’ he repeats his assurances from before and Robbie heaves yet another sigh. If I’m going to get any sleep I need you near, I’m going to have to keep an eye on you tonight I don’t want you either choking on your own vomit or dying from that head wound in the middle of the night.’ Robbie explains.  
  
James curls up on his side snuggling into the pillow with a whispered ‘I’m fine.’ and is out like a light.  
  
‘Of course you are.’ Robbie shakes his head while he runs his hand over James damp hair, all those conflicting emotions warring for supremacy in his mind.  
  
‘Sleep James.’ Robbie almost adds an ‘it will all feel better in the morning.’ but he holds his tongue. It was what he had always told Lynn and Mark but somehow he suspects it wouldn’t ring true now. A night of sleep might get James sober but it will hardly solve the problem that has got him into this state in the first place.  
  
With a sigh Robbie leaves James to sleep and returns to the bathroom. He stuffs James’ soiled suit into a plastic bag and deposits it in the back garden for James to deal with as he likes once he’s a bit more human. For all Robbie knows it’s worth a small fortune but there is no way he is keeping it in the house overnight, not with the fumes coming off it.  
  
On second thought he sheds his own clothes. James has left unpleasant damp patches on his shirt, urine and blood in an unpleasant mix. It’s less soiled than James’ suit so he just drops it in the laundry basket before stepping into the shower himself. It’s good to wash away the traveling dust as well as the bodily fluids.  
  
Once dressed again he starts to make himself a cup of tea but realises that he doesn’t have any milk. He considers something alcoholic instead but decides he needs to be alert if James should take a turn for the worse. He digs some squash out of a cupboard and mixes himself a glass, there is absolutely nothing edible in the house that doesn’t come out of a tin and he knows he’ll find breakfast depressingly non existent in the morning if he doesn’t amend this fact.  
  
Having checked on James who is sleeping soundly he heads out to the Eastern bypass to visit the Tesco Superstore for some much needed food. He’s not entirely happy to leave James alone but the idea of having food to serve the lad when he wakes up seems worth it.  
  
He returns laden with bags and anxious to get back and check that James hasn’t woken up and done something stupid upon finding himself asleep in Robbie and Laura’s bed .  
  
The house is quiet when he gets back. He puts the food away and returns to the bedroom. James is snoring slightly, hugging the pillow like a teddy bear.  
‘Wake up James.’ Robbie urges, shaking James’ shoulder lightly. James stops snoring and then suddenly his eyes shoot open and he sits bolt upright in bed.  
‘What are you doing here?’ he asks bewildered.  
  
‘You’re in my house. Can you tell me the name of your boss?’ it seems a better question than who the prime minister is.  
  
‘Joe Moody?’ James responds, blinking at Robbie like a disoriented owl.  
  
‘Good, and where is Laura?’ he continues.  
  
‘Australia.’ James responds instantly, then he hesitates. ‘Unless she’s here as well. You’re supposed to be there too.’ James looks around the room as though Laura might suddenly materialise.  
  
‘No she’s still there. Cognitive functions all intact. Good. Go back to sleep James.’ Robbie suggests and after a few seconds of staring with tired confused eyes at Robbie James does curl back up under the duvet closing his eyes with a deep sigh.  
  
Figuring he might as well try to get a handle on his jetlag Robbie stuffs the food in the cupboards and fridge and gets changed for bed. Having picked up milk he gets the kettle on and makes himself a cup of tea. Sitting in the chair beside the bed he hesitates, the idea of getting into bed with James is a little odd, yet it is the only practical solution. James is on Robbie’s usual side of the bed so Robbie slips under the covers on Laura’s side.  
  
He doesn’t think he’ll sleep, his body is convinced it’s the middle of the day and he has more than a few things going through his mind. It’s a surprise therefore when the alarm goes off and he realises he’s been asleep for two hours. He wakes James, varying his questions. James is sleepily compliant as he declares that his sister’s name is Nell and the first murderer they caught together was Ivor Denniston. ‘Except we didn’t catch him, he killed himself. People do that, they escape, run away. I tried to run away… couldn’t’ James mumbles and then he’s asleep again before Robbie has the chance to ask him quite what that means.  
  
The next time Robbie wakes up it is not from the alarm. He is lying on his back and there is a soft warmth along his left side where James has curled up against him. James who is whimpering and mumbling unintelligibly in his sleep. For a second he hesitates. Waking James would save him from whatever nightmares are plaguing him, but they’ve been asleep for less than an hour and the lad deserves his sleep.  
  
He rolls over, placing a hand on James’ upper arm stroking gently. ‘It’s alright Jim. You’re alright’ he promises and he’s surprised when James snuggles closer, tucking his head into the crook of Robbie’s neck. He’s still asleep and almost certainly not aware of what he is doing but the restles mumbling stops and he sighs contentedly as Robbie lets his arm slip around his shoulder turning the supportive arm rub into a hesitant embrace.


	8. Chapter 8

When the alarm does go off for the second time James is still wrapped up in his arms and Robbie is quick to let him go before the alarm wakes him up. He doesn’t move away though. Instead he shakes James shoulder gently. James blinks awake and Robbie can see exactly the moment when he registers that he’s snuggled up against Robbie, more or less sleeping with his head on his shoulder. Fear flashes in James eyes and before Robbie can stop him he’s backing away frantically scrambling out of bed ‘Sorry, sorry, sorry...’ tumbling from his lips in a frantic litany. He lands on the floor with a resounding thump where he sits looking equal measures unhappy, scared and defiant. 

‘James, it’s alright.’ Robbie holds out both hands in a peace offering. 

‘I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.’ James gasps back pressed against the wall, staring wide eyed at Robbie. 

‘What are you apologizing for?’ Robbie asks as he slowly slips out of bed and comes around to sit on the edge of the mattress in front of James. 

‘I invaded your space, I touched you. I … I didn’t… did I touch you… oh God what will Laura say.’ James buries his head in his hands.

‘Jim whatever you’re afraid happened, it didn’t. I cleaned you up and put you to bed. You had a nightmare and I gave you a hug. You fell asleep on my shoulder and Laura won’t mind that one bit. Besides I have a sneaky suspicion that she would rather like the idea of you in her bed. She finds you rather dashing.’ Robbie urges and when James lifts his head to look at him the fear and sadness is tinged with that sparkling amusement that is typical .

‘She would would she?’ He produces a tired grin.

‘Aye she would, so would you come back to bed.’ Robbie prompts with a yawn.

‘Only if I can sleep on your shoulder.’ James aims for ironic quip, but there is just enough endearing insecurity left in his voice as he unfolds himself from the floor that Robbie suspects that there may be just a hint of truth to the statement. 

They get back into bed, settling on opposite sides. Robbie forgoes the questions this time. It seems obvious enough that James’ brain is no more addled than it usually is. 

It isn’t a very restful night. Robbies alarm goes off every other hour and the combination of monitoring James’ concussion and the jet lag from having travelled halfway across the globe leaves him knackered. Getting out of bed at eleven to cook them some breakfast he is still tired and so seemingly is James who is still sound asleep. 

Robbie boils the kettle for tea and makes toast and scrambled eggs which he places on a lap tray and takes through to the bedroom. He puts it down on the bedside table while he perches on the bed next to James. 

‘Rise and shine, there’s breakfast.’ Robbie says but James doesn’t stir until he puts the tray down on the chest of drawers and leans over to gently shake his shoulder. ‘Come on, wake up James.’

‘Tired.’ James grumbles and Robbie smiles slightly.

‘I know but it’s really time to wake up’ he presses. He wants to get something in the lad, some water and paracetamol if nothing else. 

‘Sorry, did we have a callout?’ James blinks awake, slowly focusing on Robbie. A feat that seems to be something of a struggle. There have been times, when they’ve worked late on a case or when James has had more to drink while watching telly than would allow him to take the car home, that he has kipped on Robbie’s sofa but it’s not exactly a regular occurrence and it hasn’t happened once since James became a DI and Robbie moved in with Laura. As such it is rather endearing that James takes it so in his stride to be woken up by Robbie in the morning. 

‘No, we don’t have a callout. I’m on holiday and it’s a Saturday so unless you’ve got something big on I suspect you’re not expected into work either. I think your cell might have rung if you were and hadn’t turned up by eleven anyway.’ Robbie explains and watches as the cogs begin to whirr ever so slowly in James mind. Then the synapses seem to speed up and James’ eyes flick around the room. 

James doesn’t originally speak. instead he goes first very pink and then very white before squeezing his eyes firmly shut and taking a sharp breath that he holds in.

‘It’s alright James.’ Robbie offers but there’s no change in James who seems to be desperately trying to compose himself. 

‘Come on.’ After last night it doesn’t seem overly intimate to reach out and stroke James strangely long hair in what he hopes is a comforting way. 

‘Don’t Robbie.’ James says and sits up in bed. When he opens his eyes they are wet and shiny. ‘I’m sorry, I need…’ James trails off and Robbie watches as he pulls his legs out from under the duvet, plant his feet solidly on the carpet and stand to head out. 

‘Do you need the bathroom?’ Robbie asks. But James just surges on for two more steps before he stops, leaning heavily on the doorframe before sitting down beside it with his head tucked between his knees. 

‘Are you alright James?’ Robbie asks, crouching beside him. 

‘Just lightheaded, it happens.’ James explains ‘Do you have a bucket? I might be sick.’ he continues and Robbie hands him the baking bowl that’s been sitting at the side of the bed the whole night. James retches but produces nothing much. Robbie offers him a tissue which he takes and wipes his mouth. 

‘I shouldn’t be here.’ James half explains his attempt at an exodus, looking up at Robbie with wet eyes. 

‘You’re hungover, malnourished, concussed and upset. You need someone to take care of you. In my view that means right here is a good place to be. But if you’d rather I ring Lizzie or Nell or anyone else in your phone book I’ll do that for you.’ Robbie threatens. 

‘I am a bit hung over.’ James admits.

It doesn’t miss Robbie’s notice that James choses to admit to only the most temporary of the conditions that have sent him to Robbie’s home. 

‘Alright, let’s get you back to bed and get some paracetamol in you and hopefully some eggs. That should help with the hangover. And with the malnourishment Robbie thinks but doesn’t say. 

Carefully they get James back into bed, settled against the headboard and he obediently swallows the paracetamol that Robbie hands him and drinks the entire glass of desolved rehydration salts Robbie gives him alongside the pills. When faced with the eggs however he stalls. Robbie sits down on the side of the bed and starts to shovel his own eggs in. 

‘Please tell me there is another reason why you came home early, without Laura and you didn’t come home because you were worried about me.’ James says staring at his eggs.

‘I can’t.’ Robbie offers while taking another mouthful of eggs. ‘I actually care enough about you, lad… to fly halfway round the world to ensure you don’t waste away or get beaten to death by your….’ Robbie hesitate for a second, a day ago he would have said senile and confused father. He likes Philip despite everything, they could have been friends had Philip not been ill… and there’s a horrible thought considering what he heard last night. Pushing away the self recrimination he goes on ‘... by your abusive father.’ James flinches as he says the word. 

‘He’s senile, he doesn’t know what he’s doing.’ James defends and for a moment Robbie can see the child that James must have been. Explaining away bruises and even broken bones with plausible explanations. 

‘And what about this?’ Robbie reaches out and brushes a finger over the scar on James’ chin. 

‘You have no right.’ James pushes the plate of uneaten eggs aside and stands unsteadily, ‘I was kicked by a…’ he starts but he’s choking up. He leans heavily against the chest of drawers breathing hard, trying to stop himself from either fainting or starting to cry. 

Robbie stands, putting his own eggs away and steps in to take the place of the chest of drawers. He wraps his arms around James and lowers him back to the bed but as they settle on the bed he doesn’t let go. He can see the eggs on James’ plate start to slide off the plate and onto Laura’s favourite sheets but he doesn’t let go of James who is half trying to push away but who’s head is still resting on his shoulder. The lad is trembling and as Robbie holds him firmly in place against him the trembling turns to shaking and then suddenly James is sobbing. He doesn’t hug Robbie back. Instead he pulls one of his knees up on the bed, wrapping his arms around his own knee but he leans into the embrace and his head becomes heavy on Robbie’s shoulder as his tears slowly stain the shoulder of Robbie’s pajamas.


End file.
